


Tales From the Iron Wall: Summertime Special

by commovente



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Birthdays, Cell Phones, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente/pseuds/commovente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>Shortly after the third years retire and his captaincy begins, Futakuchi Kenji wakes up to discover his life has turned into an episode pulled straight from the questionable depths of reality TV.<br/></p>
</blockquote>additional tags: Futakuchi fails to hide from his responsibilities; Datekou is Aone's unofficial fan club; Many things happen in quick succession
            </blockquote>





	Tales From the Iron Wall: Summertime Special

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agletbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agletbaby/gifts).



> [stares at almost 6k of datekou shenanigans] so, let's just. pretend the school year's still running in August in Japan, okay? okay.
> 
> On a more serious note, happy holidays agletbaby! 
> 
> Thank you for your lovely prompts! I tried to incorporate some stuff from your Dear Creator letter, too c: This is my first time writing both Datekou and genfic, so hopefully you enjoy reading this; I've had a lot of fun with writing it (´ ▽ ` )

Shortly after the third years retire and his captaincy begins, Futakuchi Kenji wakes up to discover his life has turned into an episode pulled straight from the questionable depths of reality TV.

Not literally, of course, but when presented with 5 texts, 3 missed calls, and the ominous echo of an alarm still thrumming in the back burner of his brain, Futakuchi likes to think he can dream. Instead he sits up, running a hand through his hair as he checks the time — 5:30 — and rolls out of bed, tripping over the hem of his pyjama pants as he stumbles to change for school.

Halfway through breakfast, his phone starts buzzing again.

Fearing imminent unpleasantness (and consequent responsibility for said unpleasantness) with the wariness of one who’s learned from experience, Futakuchi makes no move to answer, nor does he attempt to silence the damn thing, instead nudging warily at his phone until it buzzes its way off the edge of the table, where it remains blissfully silent on the floor for the better part of a minute before starting back up again. His sister raises an eyebrow, kicking his leg under the table. Futakuchi waggles his eyebrows back, his own legs crossed primly at his ankles. His mom points an accusatory pair of chopsticks at him.

“Kenji, you’re going to be late if you don’t pick up the pace. What kind of captain’s late to his own team’s practice?”

Across his table, his sister arches her other eyebrow, mouthing the words _Practice? Today?_ Futakuchi ignores her, too, conspicuously turning his head in the opposite direction.

His mom pauses, considering.

“Well, if you’re not going to answer _that_ —,” chopsticks directed toward the general direction of his phone, “then you can turn it off on your way out, thank you.”

Futakuchi wisely takes this as his cue to leave, which is exactly what he does, pocketing his phone and throwing his mom a salute on his way out. He still doesn’t check his messages. He does, however, shoot Aone a mail just before he gets on the morning train, where his phone continues its soundless struggle.

 

 

 

 

If, at any point throughout his commute, Futakuchi had bothered to check his messages, he’d have been bombarded with the following:

 

**From: pantalons (aka onagawa)**

dont pantalons me, r u bringing the keys or not ? go hard or go home man

**[Received 11.48 PM]**

 

**From: pantalons (aka onagawa)**

well whatever . don’t let me down now captain , night

**[Received 12.24 AM}**

 

**From: Koganegawa Kanji**

good morning hope u slept ok !

anyway i might have a, problem, so what do i do???

**[Received 4.17 AM]**

 

(2) Missed Calls from: Koganegawa Kanji

**[4.19 AM]**

 

**From: Koganegawa Kanji**

SORRY FUTAKUCHI-SAN GONNA BE LATE TO PRACTICE ILL MAKE UP FOR IT LATER I PROMISE

**[Received 4.52 AM]**

 

**From: Koganegawa Kanji**

BUT PLS DONT WORRY ITS NOT an emergency everything is f ine the cake is definitely def nitly fin e!!!

anyways ill see u later!!!

**[Received 4.54 AM]**

 

(1) Missed Calls from: Sakunami Kousuke

**[5.16 AM]**

 

(1) Missed Calls from Sakunami Kousuke

**[5.45 AM]**

 

**From: Sakunami Kousuke**

Futakuchi-san? I’m sorry, but I don’t think Koganegawa-kun or I can make morning practice after all.

We’ll catch up as soon as possible!

**[Received 5.46 AM]**

 

The texts conclude with one last, final harbinger of imminent…well, _something_ :

 

**From: Kamasaki Yasushi**

Oi futakuchi we’re coming before morning practice you better be ready ლ(ಠ_ಠლ)

**[Received 6.23 AM]**

 

As it is, Futakuchi reads none of these messages, blissfully unaware the entire ride to school, interrupted only by Aone’s reply to his earlier mail. It reads, _Thanks! b(´ ▽ ` )b_ and Futakuchi hums to himself, pleased. He even whistles a little, a flair to his step as he hops off the train to make the short walk to Datekou.

 

 

 

Futakuchi doesn’t whistle for long.

The scene in front of Futakuchi appears like so: Early morning on August 10, the sky cloudless, the air pleasantly balmy. With the doors to Datekou’s gym still locked, a motley trio of third years hover before the front doors in varying stages of eagerness and distress. A miscellaneous assortment of party equipment is strewn about them, bearing no noticeably discernible connections to the volleyball club uniforms they’re wearing. Some of the stuff is still boxed. Most of it is brightly multi-coloured. All look mostly unusable in their state on the ground, and glancing pointedly between the ground to his upperclassmen and back Futakuchi could with weep with the irony of _oh, how the tables have turned._

“Futakuchi,” Sasaya-san tries, “I assure you, this is. Not what it looks like.”

Mostly honest, Futakuchi tells him, “I’m not really sure what this looks like right now, Sasaya-san.” He shrugs, stuffs his hands into pockets, where they absolutely don’t clench into fists, not at all. “No biggie.”

A muffled thump, followed by Kamasaki-san’s decidedly less muffled cursing. Moniwa-san looks from Kamasaki to Futakuchi, waving his hands in frantic gestures Futakuchi thinks are meant to be reassuring.

(It is not.)

Moniwa must realise this too, and rapidly switches tactics to diplomacy instead. “Futakuchi-kun, good morning! Thanks for getting here so early, sorry to call you out when there’s no practice this morning, we really appreciate —“ Another thump, much louder than the first — _actually, doesn’t that sound more like Crash! than Thump?_ , muses Futakuchi — and he and Moniwa turn, where another mysterious box joins the rest on the floor, tilted precariously to one side on top of Kamasaki’s feet.

“…God damn.” Kamasaki sounds pained.

Sasaya’s mouth drops into a tiny ‘o’.

“Kamachi,” Moniwa wails, rushing to right the box (and Kamasaki).

Between the four of them, Kamasaki recovers first. With the air of someone who’s just suffered an incredible ordeal, he says, “Well, that’s the last of ‘em.”

“I’m sorry,” Sasaya says, solemn. Who exactly he’s apologising to is anyone’s guess.

Futakuchi takes a deep breath, forcibly relaxing his stance, which had hunched into figurative hackles without his notice. He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, his expression is calm. He even smiles.

“Now that’s out of the way, it’d be nice if someone could, y’know. _Explain what the hell’s going on.”_

“I’m sorry,” Sasaya says again.

“We ran into, ah, technical difficulties…” Moniwa trails off.

“Watch how you talk to your seniors, brat,” Kamasaki huffs without heat, and Futakuchi suspects his heavy breathing might more accurately be attributed to having taken two boxes to his toes. There’s probably a joke here somewhere involving old men and twinkle toes, but alas, Futakuchi is apparently today’s designated Responsible Teammate™ so he, appropriately, doesn’t voice it.

“Right,” Futakuchi agrees instead, even though it’s not. “So, what do you propose we do about this?” He flaps a hand at the mess surrounding them. Sasaya peers up into the sky. Kamasaki plants his hands on his hips, inspecting his shoes like he can see his toes through them. Moniwa sinks into a crouch, pulling at bits of fallen streamer and blades of grass alike, expression more soft and forlorn-looking than he probably realises and it. Kinda makes Futakuchi feel sort of bad, which is ridiculous, considering he actually hasn’t done anything wrong this time.

 _Moniwa-san is way more powerful than he can ever know,_ Futakuchi thinks.

Nobody speaks. Cicadas hum in the silence. A shadow flashes at the periphery of Futakuchi’s vision, but then it’s gone and there’s not much use in scoping out escape routes that aren’t there. Kamasaki coughs, striking a pose that might be a stretch but might also not be.

 

 

 

(Backing as far away from the gym as quietly and quickly as he can, Obara books it, muttering, “Yeah, nah, I’m calling Nametsu over here after all, screw this…”)

 

 

(Finishing off a neat, pretty knot, Nametsu looks at her handiwork, smiling in satisfaction at the white and green gift box on her desk — Datekou colours — complete with a small card _(Happy Birthday, Aone!)_ she’ll get everyone to sign before today’s afternoon practice, a.k.a. surprise party. Sunlight filters into her open window, a light breeze fluttering the curtains. She sneezes.)

 

 

 

Finally Moniwa speaks, bright and — dare Futakuchi think it? — hopeful.

“Futakuchi-kun, I think we might still be able to use this!”

Futakuchi, Sasaya and Kamasaki turn to stare at the somewhat grassy banner Moniwa has procured from the ground. In cheerful, rounded characters, it proclaims HAPPY BIRTHDAYI

“Uh,” Futakuchi says. Moniwa gives him a quizzical look, then glances down. “Oh,” he says, flicking off a speck of dirt so the banner now proclaims HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

“Aone will understand,” Sasaya pitches in, nodding. Beside him, Kamasaki’s stretch must not have worked, because he takes a deep breath, snorts, and sits on top of a half-squashed box, crushing it completely.

“But I don’t,” Futakuchi points out, “and this is —“

And what it is, nobody finds out, because Futakuchi’s phone buzzes in his pocket and, for the first time that morning, Futakuchi answers, praying for better things in return.

He receives no such reprieve.

“…Pantalons,” he finishes with instead. “What? _No_ … Then try harder, asshole, you’re what, two stations away?…Wait, seriously? C’mon, no. Don’t say — lie to me, just. Ugh. Fine. _Fine_. Try and stall him as long as you can.” Futakuchi hangs up, reaching into his other pocket to fish out the keys to the gym.

Addressing the others, he says, “Aone’s on a train here right now. Wants to squeeze in some practice before class, apparently.”

“I always knew Aone was a pure soul,” Sasaya lays hand over his heart.

“What a good kid,” chirps Moniwa.

Futakuchi clears his throat. “…Anyway. Here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m going to unlock the doors while you guys are going to clean up this mess —,”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kamasaki grumbles. Moniwa and Sasaya throw him a Look. “Kamachi,” Moniwa tuts, reaching over to poke him on the forehead. “Kamachi,” Sasaya agrees.

Futakuchi carries on.

“ — and stuff it into the gym before Aone gets here, where I will just happen to be standing because I, in a once-every-four-years stroke of misfortune will have _forgotten_ my keys, you feel, and so we can’t access the gym at this point of time, sadly. Meanwhile, you guys use the time to salvage the situation in the gym while Onagawa and I distract him.”

Something niggles at the back of his mind, wheedling Futakuchi for attention he doesn’t have to spare. It also sounds suspiciously similar to earlier’s buzzing barrage of unread messages. Futakuchi considers it for a second, before tossing the keys at Kamasaki, who catches it before finally standing up again.

The four of them stare at each other.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sasaya says, already beginning to haul a rainbow-coloured pile into his arms to hopefully reassemble inside.

“Operation commence,” Kamasaki throws over his shoulder, heading to unlock the doors.

“We’ve got your back, Captain,” Moniwa nods once at him, beaming, then hurries over to help Sasaya with clean-up as Futakuchi blinks, equal parts pleased and thrown in the wake of Moniwa’s — all three of the third years’, really — easy confidence in him.

“Thanks,” Futakuchi calls out to Moniwa’s back.

 

 

 

(On a particular train en route to school, Onagawa stares at a blank phone screen where his reflection stares back, wobbly and shot through with strips of light and the shadows of phone lines strung in a path parallel to the train. He pays no mind to the wide berth other passengers leave around him and Aone, who sits beside him, shooting a smile at the latter that’s no less genuine for its uncanny resemblance to his shaky reflection.

Aone glances at him, wearing the same blissful, content expression he’s had since Onagawa sat himself beside him. He looks more at ease than Onagawa’s seen him in a long time, not since that one time the team ran into Karasuno’s chibi #10 and his baby sister on an outing, where the teensy little girl had asked Aone for a piggyback and left a hairpin in his hair.

 _See, nobody usually sits next to Aone on the train,_ he remembers Futakuchi say once, having taken offence on Aone’s behalf.

Looking this way and that, Onagawa suddenly finds he minds the distance between them and everyone else on the train more than he first did. He nudges Aone with his elbow.

“Nice day, huh?”

Aone smiles a little. “Are you going to come practice, too?”

Onagawa squirms. _Stall him as long as you can_ , Futakuchi told him, but… he looks at Aone.

Aone looks back.

Onagawa sighs. He just doesn’t have the heart.

 _Sorry Futakuchi, it’s up to you,_ Onagawa thinks, feeling not very sorry at all when he nods, wishing Aone a happy birthday and seeing Aone’s smile widen more.)

 

 

 

Futakuchi stands guard in front of the gym, pacing. He tries to ignore Kamasaki’s gleeful whooping from inside the gym, finds that he can’t, and only hopes it bodes well as he checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes. The messaging app flashes madly, and Futakuchi belatedly remembers the hoard of messages he’s been avoiding since he woke up.

Scrolling from one message to the next, Futakuchi quickly realises why he tried to evade them in the first place, the gnawing sensation of dread only growing when he tries to call both Koganegawa and Sakunami and finds himself unable to contact either. Futakuchi thinks he might cry.

“You’re in charge of this team now,” he reminds himself. “So for fuck’s sake get your shit together, Kenji.”

Moniwa’s voice joins Kamasaki’s whooping from inside the gym, followed by a low, indulgent chuckle that must be Sasaya.

Certain things are easier said than done.

 

 

 

(As it has for the last 3 hours, Koganegawa’s kitchen resembles a floury sugar-dusted dreamland more than it does a kitchen. While this has improved significantly since Sakunami arrived for damage control after an alarming phone call around dawn, there’s still a ways to go.

“Sakunami-kun,” Koganegawa whispers tearfully, broom in hand and stains smattering his clothes, “is this what they call a quarter life crisis?”

“No,” says Sakunami, because it isn’t.

“This is all going to work out just fine,” he tells Koganegawa, even though he’s not entirely sure, but Koganegawa recovers anyway, accepting the response with characteristic aplomb. “Oh, okay. That’s good, then! By the way, Sakunami-kun, how’s Aone-san’s new cake going?”

It’s much too late to confess now, but Sakunami has as much experience as Koganegawa in the art of birthday-cake-baking.

“Um.”

Koganegawa stops sweeping the floor for a moment to lay a sticky-sweet hand on Sakunami’s shoulder. He repeats Sakunami’s words back to him: “This is all going to work out just fine,” then promptly resumes his cleaning with renewed vigour.

Sakunami smiles helplessly, endeared despite himself.)

 

(Away from the mess, Sakunami’s phone chimes in the living room before falling silent to join Koganegawa’s phone beside it, the words _(1) Missed Call_ blinking on both screens in tandem.)

 

 

 

**From: pantalons (aka onagawa)**

we are approaching the gym, i repeat,

we are approaching the gym, this is not a drill,

**[Received 6.54 AM]**

 

**To: pantalons (aka onagawa)**

hahaha oh my god k (○ﾟε＾○)v♪

**[Delivered 6.56 AM]**

 

**From: pantalons (aka onagawa)**

dude wtf are u ok

**[Received 6.57 AM]**

 

 

 

True enough, Aone and Onagawa are now visible from Futakuchi’s vantage point in front of the doors to the gym.

_Stay calm. You’ve gotta play it cool._

As they approach, he can see Onagawa practically chatting Aone’s head off, which doesn’t even make sense, considering that Onagawa speaks in a slow drawl, like he’s caught in half-speed while everyone else dashes off in fast-forward. Aone doesn’t seem to mind though, nodding every now and again, and without even trying Futakuchi can fill in the blanks of Aone’s contributions in what admittedly seems to be a fairly one-sided discussion.

But then Aone jerks his head quite vigorously, and when he opens his mouth Futakuchi imagines he can hear Aone’s soft laughter. Onagawa catches his eye and — oh, god — _winks_ (except Onagawa can’t really wink, so it’s more like he blinks deliberately slowly), before turning back to Aone and resuming conversation like nothing’s happened at all. Futakuchi squawks a bout of ugly, nervous laughter before schooling himself back into relative calm.

Even the noises from inside the gym have stopped. Right now, Futakuchi’s entire surroundings and possibly even the world as he knows it pause for a brief, blessed moment to fall into place, all the factors aligning just for him, for this moment…

_Good, this is good. Nice job, Pantalons, I’ll take it from here —_

But then all too suddenly they’re right in front of him and Onagawa’s doing that stupid slow drawl again — “Mornin’, Futakuchi” — and Aone’s grunting _good morning_ too, and then Futakuchi starts talking but it’s kinda sorta really terrible, a snowball into an avalanche, with Futakuchi on a roll in the worst, most rambling way possible.

“Aone! And Pantalons — morning. Right, good morning. We’ve got some pretty brilliant weather going on today, wouldn’t you two say, really great for some, uh — impromptu volleyball practice! Outdoors. Yep, that’s…Yeah.”

Aone frowns gently at him. Onagawa goes straight ahead and face palms, never one for subtlely. Futakuchi can relate.

Leaning down a little, Aone places a palm on Futakuchi’s forehead, who immediately breaks into a cold sweat.

“Futakuchi,” Aone says seriously, “are you alright?”

“Peachy,” Futakuchi wheezes. Onagawa sighs.

A thud! echoes from inside the gym. Aone and Onagawa’s heads jerk upwards, trying to peer behind Futakuchi, who scrambles to block their way to the door. In a bout of acute melodrama, Futakuchi thinks: _and so, we come to the end. It’s been a good run, guys…_

Except nothing ends, and nobody tries to get inside the gym because at that moment, Obara rounds the corner, waving. Nametsu trails not far behind. The inside of the gym falls back into relative quiet, and Futakuchi exhales in relief.

“Hey guys,” says Obara. “What’s the hold up? Why’re we waiting outside the gym?”

Futakuchi and Onagawa freeze. Now objectively, Futakuchi realises Obara makes a very good point, but in another, equally real sense, he also wants to smack Obara up the head. Unexpectedly, it’s Aone who comes to the rescue.

“Futakuchi is unwell.”

“You better haul him over to the nurse’s then, Aone-kun,” Nametsu slips her way into the conversation, and Futakuchi spies her discreetly shoving a plastic bag behind Onagawa, who takes the hint and hides it behind his back. Aone must agree, reaching over to tug Futakuchi’s arm over his shoulder carefully, like Futakuchi’s an invalid who must be treated with delicacy. Nametsu glares at him pointedly, so Futakuchi lets himself be lead away.

Just before the gym vanishes from sight, he thinks he even sees Nametsu smack Obara up the head, exactly like Futakuchi would’ve. Pride swells in his chest, and he leans his head against Aone’s shoulder, smiling. Aone glances at him in concern until Futakuchi distracts him, pointing out a rabbit-shaped cloud that, upon further inspection, actually does resemble a rabbit, damn.

Aone stops walking to look, the two of them watching the clouds, all (temporarily) well once more.

 

 

 

(“Are they gone yet?” whispers Kamasaki.

“No,” Sasaya whispers back.

“…How about now?” Kamasaki tries again.

Sasaya takes Kamasaki’s face in his hands. Looking straight into his eyes, Sasaya says: “Kamachi, shut up. Please.”

“Uh, guys? A little, woah, help over here.”

Balanced precariously on an old stepladder, Moniwa’s on his tiptoes, holding up with one hand the end of the banner they hadn’t gotten round to hanging up yet. Moniwa’s other hand is splayed against the wall, clinging on for dear life.

Springing back into action, Kamasaki shakes off Sasaya’s hands. “Shit, right. Hang on a second.”

Sasaya moves to pin up the banner in place and Kamasaki goes to steady the stepladder when there’s a knock on the door before it opens. All three of them jolt, Futakuchi’s head knocking into the stepladder, subsequently knocking Moniwa _off_ the stepladder, falling into Sasaya who falls to the floor, ass first.

“Crap, sorry,” calls a sheepish voice from the door, and the three look up to find Fukiage scratching his ear, looking incredibly guilty.

“That’s alright,” Moniwa says, awkwardly sitting up from where he’d been curled around Sasaya’s middle. “What can we do for you, Fukiage-kun?”

“Oh, nothing,” says Fukiage, flustered. “Nametsu-san just told me to tell you that the coast is clear. Also, class starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait, really?”

Kamasaki leans against the stepladder, rubbing his head and pulling a face.

“Gah! Sorry,” Fukiage bows before scurrying away from the gym.

Kamasaki stares after him.

“The hell? I scared him away.”

“Don’t bully the first years,” Moniwa says reflexively.

Sasaya rests his cheek against the floor. “I think I’m getting too old for this, guys.”)

 

 

 

Futakuchi’s trip to the nurse’s office makes him late for class by ten minutes. This effectively means that he misses homeroom — and, therefore, Aone, who he doesn’t have class with until metalwork fifth period — heading straight for Japanese, where he excuses himself for tardiness before slouching into his seat, settling in for a long haul of nothing.

But that would be boring, and the powers that be seem deadset against letting Futakuchi’s life stay _boring_ so, twenty minutes into class, his phone buzzes. Probably against his better judgement, Futakuchi opens up Messaging —

— and jolts up in his seat, ramrod-straight.

“Aha! _That’s_ what I was forgetting —.” A pause. Then, softly, “ — what the fuck.”

Someone clears their throat. Futakuchi looks up at where Fujiwara-sensei stands in front of him, looking none too pleased. Titters make their rounds throughout the classroom. Futakuchi gives them all the stink eye.

“Can it, all of you.”

“Excuse me?” Sensei’s eyebrows are showing off an incredible display of dexterity right now, but they’re not nearly as attention grabbing as her hand, outstretched, hovering above the general vicinity of his phone, unattended on his desk.

Futakuchi considers his options. Grabbing his phone, he all but shoves it into Fujiwara-sensei’s open hand.

“Keep it,” he tells her, at least 65% serious.

Fujiwara-sensei clicks her tongue, and _then_ Futakuchi notices the acrobatics going on with her eyebrows, which delights him enough to ignore the snickering starting up in the classroom again.

 

 

 

**From: Koganegawa Kanji**

futakuchi-san!!!! on our way to school now!!!!!! we finished aone-san’s third cake and made the kitchen look like a kitchen again! sakunami-kun worked rlly hard, so don’t get mad at him cuz we’re both late to school

c u soon

**[Received 9.17 AM]**

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Aone hovers over his easel in art, deep in thought. The paintbrush in his hand hovers motionless over an unfinished oil painting. So deep is Aone in his thoughts that he hasn’t noticed the paint on the brush has already dried, leaving a tiny trail of droplets over the easel and floor.

He’s thinking about Futakuchi.

Aone doesn’t think Futakuchi is sick, not really. But he has been working hard, lately, perhaps even _too_ hard. It’s for the best that Futakuchi takes this time to have a nice rest in the nurse’s office where, if he can’t forget about whatever is bothering him (which Aone hopes isn’t the case, but resignedly suspects is the heart of the matter), then he can at least grab some time away from it all. Then, once he’s had some time to himself, he can head back to class, and when lunch comes around tell Aone all about it.

After all, Futakuchi’s told him more than once that he’s a very good listener — the very _best_ listener, in fact.

Aone smiles.

Dipping his brush back in fresh paint, he resumes his painting. In a distant, absentminded sort of way he wonders what he’ll buy for lunch today, and whether he should buy snacks before heading to afternoon practice or after. Speaking of practice, he considers the plausibility of practice really being held outdoors today. Futakuchi was very cagey about the gym this morning — he must’ve forgotten his set of keys again, but that’s alright. Aone always keeps his spare set on him at all times.

He might even drop by during lunch, actually.

 

 

 

**From: Nametsu-san**

Moniwa-san and the others finished decking out the gym. You should come check it out.

**[Received 11.26 AM]**

 

**From: Namestsu-san**

Actually, you can even bring Aone-kun with you, if you want.

Yeah, bring him over with you.

**[Received 11.27 AM]**

 

 

 

Lunch rolls around, and Futakuchi’s in a bit of crisis. On one hand, he can’t find Aone, which means he’s free to sneak over to the gym, inspect the premises, sign Aone’s team card and be in and out, five minutes, easy. On the other hand, he can’t find Aone, which means he has absolutely no way of ensuring it’s safe to sneak over to the gym, inspect the premises, and sign Aone’s team card, in and out in five minutes. Futakuchi purses his lips, debating.

Then he shrugs.

Futakuchi heads on over to the gym.

On his way there, he stumbles into none other than Aone, and oh, hello, crisis alert, crisis imminent, crisis _here_. The gym’s already in sight and — Futakuchi isn’t sure which is worse — _he’s_ in sight of Aone, which means there’s no going back now. So Futakuchi does the only thing there is left to do. Looking past Aone, Futakuchi locks on to the gym, sees the gym and the gym only.

And then he runs.

He’s fairly sure Aone watched him run past. But there doesn’t seem to be anyone in hot pursuit currently, so Futakuchi guesses he’s got maybe thirty seconds to meet his agenda.

He opens the gym doors, and —

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AONE!”

Futakuchi freezes. 

So does everyone else in the gym: Moniwa, Kamasaki, Sasaya, all waving streamers held in place midair; Fukiage, hand outstretched palm-up, for either a hi-five or a slap, nobody’ll know now; Onagawa and Obara, both clutching opposite ends of a particularly large pompom…thing, doubtlessly arguing over who gets to hold it.

Finally there’s Nametsu, one hand brandishing a card, the other resting on a hip. Looking somewhat stunned, she says, “You didn’t bring Aone-kun.”

“Damn you, Futakuchi,” Kamasaki grumbles from the back of the gym.

“Killjoy,” drawls Onagawa, and Futakuchi cheerfully flips him off.

“I thought you were bringing the cake,” says Fukiage, sounding disappointed. “At the very least a present,” Obara adds.

Futakuchi doesn’t miss a beat.

“I,” he begins, “am a gift that keeps on giving. Also, Koganegawa and Sakunami are bringing the cake. I think…Actually, has anyone seen them? They should be here by now.”

“Who should be here by now?”

And there, lo and behold, is Aone himself, man of the hour, of this entire ridiculous day, really. Nobody moves. Then —

“Koganegawa and Sakunami,” answers Futakuchi, surprising himself.

In a very small voice, Moniwa says: “Happy birthday, Aone-kun!”

“Thank you,” Aone says, at regular volume.

Birthday greetings start coming in from all directions then, Sasaya even breaking out into an off-key — but still appreciated — rendition of Happy Birthday, which everyone eventually joins in on, a whole symphony of tone-deaf well-wishing. Aone doesn’t seem to be budging from his spot just past the door, Futakuchi walks up to nudge him along from behind, taking the opportunity to check out the gym as he does.

It looks pretty cool, in a rainbow-coloured, organised chaos sort of way. Rather than strung along the walls, streamers of all lengths and colours trace the borders of a volleyball court on the floor in a clear health and safety hazard that Futakuchi thinks he’ll let someone else police at a later time. There are more of the huge pompom things hanging between gaps in the volleyball net, spelling out A-O-N-E in a fat, fuzzy font.

Overlooking the entire set-up hangs a banner on the wall, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! in Datekou white-and-green, almost as big as one of their team’s banners during tournaments. Pride puffs up in Futakuchi’s chest again, pride mixed with an overwhelming, indomitable fondness for Aone, for his team.

 _We’ve got your back, Captain_ , Moniwa told him this morning, and Futakuchi grins, looking from the gym to his team to Aone, currently getting his hair ruffled by Kamasaki, basking under everyone’s affection with quiet happiness. Fukiage, Onagawa and Obara are running around the gym, hollering. Sasaya and Nametsu are laughing at something or another from the sidelines. Moniwa is bustling from one person to the next, smiling and fussing over everyone just like he always has.

Futakuchi thinks: _This is way beyond your call of duty, Moniwa-san._

He thinks: _But you know, I don’t mind trying to fill these big shoes you still walk beside everyone with._

Then the gym doors are slamming open, interrupting Futakuchi’s inner sap, for which Futakuchi feels both grateful but also slightly annoyed. Coach Oiwake stands at the door, looking ready to kick out whoever’s stirring up the incredible racket they’re probably making, but he pauses once he takes in the gym, wandering inside with an inscrutable — though not unhappy — expression on his face.

His presence is noticed in increments, people gradually halting whatever they were doing to nod respectfully at the Coach or, in Onagawa’s case, throw up both arms from the other end of the gym to wave languidly at him.

“How daring,” Sasaya says. Fukiage looks torn between trying to run from his spot beside Onagawa and trying to join in. He doesn’t get the opportunity to do either, because Oiwake-kantoku says, milder than Futakuchi has ever heard him speak, “I didn’t know it was your birthday, Aone.”

“His sixteenth,” Obara specifies.

“Oh, yeah!” Nametsu, now. “You should sign Aone-kun’s card, too, sir.”

Oiwake-kantoku blinks, pleasantly surprised, and Futakuchi makes a beeline for him, awkwardly realising that he, too, is yet to write anything in said card.

Aone peers at them curiously. Moniwa pats his shoulder, says, “It was supposed to be a surprise, but seeing as Koganegawa-kun and Sakunami-kun still have to write in it, you’ll get it eventually.”

“Uh, is it just me,” Onagawa pipes up, “but does anyone…hear anything right now? Y’know, speaking of Koganegawa…”

Everyone pauses. True enough, now that nobody else is talking, a muffled drumroll series of footsteps drifts in from outside, growing louder at a rapid pace.

Sasaya whistles low. “Speak of him and he shall appear.”

The footsteps approach the doors, and Futakuchi even holds his breath a little, caught up in the moment. He doesn’t think he’s the only one, if Kamasaki’s paler expression is anything to go by. The doors remains firmly shut, however. A loud _oomph!_ knocks against it, followed by a moan and “Koganegawa-kun! Are you alright?”

Futakuchi blinks, letting out his breath.

From outside, Koganegawa says, “I forgot to open the door.”

Then there’s a click, and the doors open to reveal Koganegawa nursing a bump on his head, Sakunami cradling a wonky shaped box behind him.

In unison, they say, “Happy birthday, Aone-san!” which lifts the hush and starts everyone back up again, Koganegawa rushing up to join the rest, Sakunami murmuring a soft apology for them both to Moniwa as he follows after. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except in his haste (but also maybe the hand still plastered against his forehead, wrist thus covering one eye) Koganegawa misses a stray wisp of streamer, which catches against his ankle and very quickly pulls him down to acquaint his face with the floor.

Obara tries to save him but fails splendidly, diving forward to join Koganegawa on the ground which sets off Sakunami, who wasn’t able to stop in time, toppling immediately after.

Self-preservation takes over, which wasn’t a problem until it very suddenly was, as Sakunami was also in possession of Aone’s (apparently third) cake, which flies up as he goes down, continuing in midair even after Sakunami falls.

What happens next occurs from Futakuchi’s point of view as both double-speed fast but also curiously slow: Fukiage throws out an arm that does absolutely nothing to stop the airborne cake’s path but does smack against Onagawa, who flinches back and stumbles against Kamasaki, who roars as he tips backwards, Moniwa letting out a smothered yelp as he’s left to try and save them all; Sasaya pauses mid-catch to watch them in horror, turning towards them and accidentally smacking Oiwake-kantoku in the face.

(Futakuchi winces.)

Undeterred by the chaos around her, Nametsu jumps for the cake, narrowly missing the cake but successfully managing to smack it towards Futakuchi, who — redirected back to the situation at hand — is taken completely by surprise and thus makes direct contact with the cake using his face.

He sinks to his knees amidst his many fallen teammates, cupping his hands under his chin to break the fall of the now smushed cake. What Aone was doing as this all unfolded, Futakuchi will never know, but what he does know is that in the aftermath of it all Aone crouches beside Futakuchi, offering him a tissue Futakuchi accepts wordlessly. Then Aone scoops a small portion of his cake from Futakuchi’s other hand, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s good,” Aone says into the silence.

Futakuchi snorts, Nametsu and Sakunami breaking off into giggles. Kamasaki wheezes, kneeing Onagawa to get off him before helping up a dazed-looking Moniwa. Fukiage slumps between them both, spent. Sasaya takes a deep breath, face carefully blank as he stares death in the face and offers a hand to Oiwake-kantoku, who grumbles, “Someone better clean this up later, mind.”

Koganegaw’s louder than all of them combined, rolling around on the floor as he yells “Not _again_ ,” which cracks a smile on even Oiwake-kantoku’s face as everyone else bursts into another round of laughter.

Swiping the back of his hand over his eyes, Futakuchi nudges Aone to croak between laughs, “Happy birthday, Aone.”

“Yeah,” Aone replies, rubbing Futakuchi’s back absently. “It is.”

 


End file.
